


Harsh Truth

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [15]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M, homophobic parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald's mom knows that Oswald and Jim are sleeping together. And she does not approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harsh Truth

Oh, God. His head was going to implode any second now. When were the painkillers going to kick in? Oswald had bundled him onto the couch and brought him some tea to settle his stomach, which he had forced himself to drink despite gagging at every other sip as his esophagus automatically rejected anything he tried to put in it. Mostly, he just lied in misery, cursing his idiotic decision making the night before. Sure, one more drink couldn’t hurt. Until two drinks became three drinks and those became four and then… Five? Six? He’d stopped counting after that shot of rum. 

His head was propped up on a pillow in Oswald’s lap. Oswald massaged his scalp with his fingertips in firm, circular motions, gently easing his pain. Jim enjoyed his kind nursing in silence, his eyes shut to the too bright morning light. All the blinds were shut, but some light still filtered through. Oswald was such a good boyfriend. Whatever else he might be, he was that. Much better than Jim. Always minding Jim’s comfort before his own. Never demanding what Jim wasn’t already willing to give him. Yet, in return, Jim had treated him like the guilty party. He hoped that he had apologized enough. He had said “I love you” plenty last night. That should help. And what they had done afterward didn't hurt, either. 

“Did you like what I did last night?” Jim asked, opening his eyes to peer up at Oswald.

In the dim light, Oswald’s face was only a shadowed silhouette, but his eyes always shone when he gazed at Jim. 

“Oh, yes,” Oswald said, smiling bright. “That was quite the lovely surprise.”

“I’m glad. At least something good came out of my drinking.”

Jim’s eyes slipped shut as Oswald massaged a particularly achy knot at the base of his skull. 

“Right there,” he murmured. “That helps so much.”

“Perhaps next time, I could give you a rim job.”

Huh? Well, look what body part wasn’t too nauseated to perk to attention. Its timing could be better, though. He shifted his legs slightly, focusing on throwing up in the toilet to get his cock to calm the hell down before he became fully erect. His head hurt too much to do any of that.

“You want to?” he asked, looking at Oswald again.

“Yes. I’m curious about what sounds I can incite from you.”

A grin grew on Jim’s face.

“You were moaning so nicely for me.”

“I can’t help myself with you.”

“You think you can also, if you want, you can fuck me afterwards like I did with you?”

Oswald’s hands stilled for a moment before resuming his motion, slower this time, contemplative.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Aren’t you curious? I am. I want to feel what you feel when I’m inside you. You stimulated my prostate once with your fingers. It was amazing. I want all of you next time. If you want. You don’t have to do it.”

“I do want to.” Oswald was smiling again. “I want to.”

“Good. Okay.”

Inside, Jim was pumping his fists in the air, shouting, _Yeeessss!_.

“I do want all of you, you know,” Jim said, switching to a more serious tone. “I don’t want you to get the impression that I don’t because there are things that I don’t like.”

Oswald’s smile faded, going tight lipped.

“I know,” he said, placing his left hand on Jim’s cheek. 

Jim squeezed his wrist, rubbing the back of his hand with thumb.

"I mean it," he said. "I shouldn't have said what I did on the phone. Not the part about me loving you. The other thing. I was drunk. It slipped out. I shouldn't have."

"Jim, it's okay."

"It's not."

"I've always known how you feel about my job. And I know that you're never going to be okay with it, but the fact that you're willing to be with me like this, for however long this last, means everything to me. So it's okay." He smiled sadly again. "I don't like hearing it, but I know you're thinking it."

Jim frowned, replaying what Oswald had just said in his head, the pain and nausea that wracked his brain hindering his thought process, but not enough for him to miss what Oswald left unspoken. 

_For however long this lasts_. 

Oswald was picturing an end date to their relationship. Most relationships ended, sure, but he wasn't mentioning it as merely a statistical probability, for that went without saying. And when paired with "willing to be with me"... Did Oswald fear that Jim was going to break up with him over this? But it was the rational thing to suppose, wasn’t it? As long as Jim had been naive enough to ignore Oswald's criminal life, they had been happy, but now it was interfering in their life 24/7, eroding Jim's sense of identity and his patience, even causing him to accuse Oswald of manipulating him. If their situations were reversed, wouldn't Jim be equally afraid of being tossed aside after his partner decided that he couldn't put up with this anymore? It wasn't like the possibility hadn't entered Jim's mind last night. Chances were that he would reach a point where the moral conflicts would prove too vicious to overcome, no matter how much he cared for Oswald. One day, some horrible thing that he was forced to do, or something equally horrible that Oswald did, without Jim’s unwillingness, might make him unable to look Oswald in the eyes.

Looking away from Jim, Oswald silently resumed massaging Jim's head. He raised his left hand off of Jim's cheek, but Jim tightened his hold on his wrist, aborting his motion halfway. Oswald frowned at him, lips parting in an unspoken question when Jim slid his hand up and curled his fingers around Oswald's.

"Do you think that I'm going to leave you?" Jim asked.

Oswald turned his head to the side. In the faint light, it was hard to make out the subtleties of his facial expression, but Jim detected a clear pang of unhappiness. Oswald’s right hand fell away from Jim's head, while his left hung limply in Jim's hand. 

"Isn't that always a possibility?" Oswald asked, turning toward Jim without really looking at him, his tone distressingly flat. 

"You think it possible that you'll leave me?"

Oswald opened his mouth, but it took him a while to speak.

"It's not impossible," he said.

"But it's not probable?"

Slowly, Oswald closed his fingers around Jim's and shook his head.

"No. I can't envision myself leaving you."

"But me leaving you, that you can."

"Jim, let's not talk about this. You should rest."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You don't know that. Please. You don't have to make me any promises. You don't know how you're going to feel about me or the mess we're in tomorrow or the day after. Best not worry about the future of our relationship, alright?"

He smiled sadly, as if the forced gesture could cancel out the suppressed hurt in his voice. After rubbing Jim's knuckles with his thumb, Oswald extracted his left hand and resumed massaging Jim's head, looking at a point past Jim's forehead. Jim wanted to kick himself for not spotting Oswald's insecurity earlier. He felt like a dick. 

"Can I promise you one thing?" he asked. "Just one."

Oswald pursed the corner of his mouth.

"What?" he asked, wary.

"I promise that you will fuck me this week. I'd promise today, but I'm probably going to be feeling like shit the rest of the day. But, as soon as you want after today. I won't take that one back."

Oswald stared at him, incredulous, then he laughed softly, shaking his head.

"I will hold you to that," he said, finally sounding more cheerful than forlorn.

"I lied. One more promise. I don't intend to leave you. Whatever happens, that's how I feel right now."

To Jim's immense relief, Oswald didn't lose his smile, although it did fade a little 

"I appreciate that," he said.

Leaning down, he kissed Jim, his lips tasting of forgiveness. 

````````````  
“Where have you been?”

His mother couldn’t even let him close the door before badgering him with questions, could she? It was like Oswald was twelve again coming home late from school. 

“I told you, mom,” Oswald said, placing his keys on the table by the door. “I had work. Can we please not start this again?”

She huffed and walked away, arms crossed over her chest. He rolled his eyes, but counted his blessings. At least she didn’t keep on making a fuss this time. 

`````````  
The coat that Oswald had been wearing when he finally deigned to show up after going missing the whole night hung from the coat rack next to the door. Inside the left pocket, Gertrud found his cell phone. Oswald was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, so she would have to be quick. Now how did this machine work again? Oswald had taught her once, but it had held little interest for her then, so she had not paid the closest attention. How was she to know that one day she would need to find proof that her naïve son was communicating with some policeman who would only bring him pain? Finding the menu, she pressed around, stumbling onto the call history. The cop’s name was all over the list, including at 10:35pm the night before, when Oswald had promised her that he’d gotten a call from work.

Her son had lied to her. He’d been lying for days, maybe even weeks, deceiving his own mother. That ungrateful boy. All because of this Jim Gordon. 

```````````  
“Hey, Gordon,” the desk sergeant called out to Jim when got to work on Monday morning. “You have a visitor.”

Jim frowned at him.

“Who?” he asked.

“A Mrs. Kapelput,” the sergeant read off a note. “I sent her to wait by your desk,”

Oh, shit. Jim hadn’t misheard that name, right? Maybe his hearing was malfunctioning this morning. Or not. There she was, standing by his desk, wearing another flouncy dress, a dark, blue one this time. He was too far away to make out the expression on her face, but did it appear like she was regarding his work station with a bit of disdain. Why was she here? Nothing could have happened to Oswald. She wouldn’t bother telling him. Had she found out about them? Had Oswald’s continuous absence become too obvious? Fuck, Jim had been afraid of that. Oswald wouldn’t have told her anything. They agreed not to breathe a word of their relationship to anyone except Harvey, and especially not his mother because Oswald’s assurances that his mom wouldn’t actually hurt Jim weren’t the most believable. And right now, he felt fully vindicated in his paranoia, because she scowled at him as soon as she saw him walking up the stairs, her purse clutched tightly in front of her, bearing it as if she was considering using it as a weapon.

“Mrs. Kapelput—“

“Mr. Gordon,” she cut him off, tone curt. “May we speak in private?”

Oh, shit. She did know. She had to. His stomach flip-flopped in his belly, his palms sweaty. 

“Of course.” He smiled weakly. She didn’t return it. “Right this way.”

He led her to an empty interview room. It immediately made him feel claustrophobic, which was ridiculous. He had never felt claustrophobia in his entire life, yet somehow the room had shrunken in size since the last time that he had been inside it now that he was alone with Oswald’s mother and a handbag that he suspected might be filled with rocks. Sharp ones. The type that gouged people’s eyes out. 

“Why did you call my son on Friday night?” she asked accusingly.

“We’re friends,” Jim said automatically. “We call each other from time to time.”

“When I asked him, he said it was work. Then he left, again, because of work. You do not work with him.”

Oh, fuck. How was he supposed to spin a lie to cover that?

“Well, no.”

“What kind of relationship do you have with Oswald?”

“Like I said, we’re friends.”

“You’re not his friend. I saw how you looked at him on Christmas Eve. What you want from him. And I fear he has given it to you. I always thought it would be a woman who took him away from me, but then you darkened our door. You corrupted him."

That word struck an angry cord inside Jim.

"Mrs. Kapelput, I did not corrupt him."

"He's been staying at your apartment, hasn't he? He almost never comes home these days, not since he brought you to the house. You seduced him."

“I didn’t—“

“Stop lying to me!”

There was no way out of this. She was already convinced. Dissuading her from the truth was impossible by this point. 

"Mrs. Kapelput, I love and respect your son."

"Liar!" 

She stepped forward, her right hand shaking on the handbag, and Jim was sure that she was going to smack him with it, but she held back.

"You are using him," she continued. "I warned him about you, but he didn't listen."

"I'm not lying. It's the truth. I am not using him."

"He is lying to me because of you. You made a boy lie to his mother."

"I apologize for us not telling you. We should have, but we were afraid that you wouldn't understand."

"I understand. You're trying to steal him from me. You've manipulated him into believing your lies. You're a disgrace, like all other policemen. I will not allow my son to shame himself any further with you."

The flicker of anger that Jim felt earlier began to burn.

"I understand that you're upset," he said, "but I won't stand here being insulted. I know that you and Oswald are very close and that this is hard for you to accept, but I love Oswald and he loves me."

She slapped him. A cold, harsh slap right across his cheek. The edge of a ring scraped his skin, leaving a sharp sting in its wake. He touched his cheek. Blood streaked one fingertip. 

“You stay away from my son,” she said, fury shining in her eyes.

She looked like she was about to hit him again, and Jim ducked back, bracing himself to dodge the blow, but she turned on her heel and walked out. 

“Shit,” Jim said, immediately reaching for his phone.

It rang four eternally long times. The call was about to go to voicemail when Oswald finally answered. 

“Hello?”

His voice sounded heavy with sleep.

“Were you asleep?”

“Yes. I’m still in bed.”

“I’m sorry I woke you, but your mother came by the station. She knows about us.”

“What? How? What happened?”

“She slapped me.”

“Fuck. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. She’s been suspecting us since the beginning. I tried to dissemble, but she wasn’t having it. I told her that we love each other. I’m sorry, but she already knew.”

Jim sank into a chair, dropping his head into his left hand.

“Don’t apologize. She’s at fault, not you. I was afraid that she would figure it out. I only hoped that her distaste for it might dissuade her from voicing her objections out loud. Did she insult you?”

“Quite a bit.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“She said that I seduced you. Corrupted you. Made you lie to her. Shamed you.”

Anger thickened his voice as he spoke. He had never been the target of homophobia before. It clawed at his throat and burned in his gut, making him feel indignant and humiliated. He wanted to lash out in righteous anger, but it was Oswald’s mother. He couldn’t do anything, not even rub it in her face how wrong she was about what he and Oswald were to each other.

“I’m staying over at your place tonight,” Oswald said.

Not quite the response that Jim had been expecting, but not surprising.

“Ok.”

“Do you mind if I bring a suitcase?”

A suitcase?

“No. Why? Are you moving out?”

“For now, yes.”

“You should talk to your mom first.”

“I’ll stay here until she returns, but I am not staying under the same roof as her until she apologizes to you and accepts that I have someone else in my life now. As I sincerely doubt that either of those things will occur today, I’m packing.”

“Oswald, the last thing that I want is to create a rift between you and your mom.”

“She’s creating it herself. She needs to respect you. I’ll text you after I speak with her, alright?”

“Alright. I’ve got to get to work.”

“I’ll see you tonight. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Jim felt like shit. Like absolute shit. The feeling was becoming disturbingly familiar. As far as he knew, Oswald had never moved away from home. He and his mother were very close. Harvey called him a mama’s boy and he wasn’t wrong, but Jim wasn’t going to begrudge him his proximity to a living parent. And Jim had just fucked up that relationship for him.

_She’s at fault, not you._

Jim knew that. She was the intolerant one, and she had disrespected her son today as much as she had Jim. It wasn’t him that Jim wanted her to apologize to. It was to Oswald. No parent should make their child feel that they should be less than themselves. 

````````````  
Oswald already had his suitcase packed by the time that his mother returned. He had made a mess of it, his clothes thrown in haphazardly instead of folded neatly like usual, but he was too furious to care. His hands had been shaking as he gathered his toiletries, a sick knot tightening in his gut as he packed away a lifetime of living by his mother’s side.

“What’s this?” she asked when she entered the apartment, looking at the suitcase.

Oswald was waiting for her on the couch, the suitcase by his feet. He stood when she came in, smoothing down the front of his suit to distract himself from the tremors invading his fingers. 

“Jim called me,” he said. “He told me what you said to him. That you hit him.”

“He deserved it.”

Oswald’s lips tightened at the venom in her face.

“No, mother. He deserves your respect. So unless you give it to him, I’m leaving.”

“You are leaving me for him? You would abandon your own mother for a… a…”

She said a vile word in German. Oswald’s hands clenched into fists. It took all his willpower not to grab his suitcase and storm out of there that very second.

“That’s what I am, mother, so unless you’re prepared to throw that word at me, apologize right now.”

“I will not. You’re not like him.”

“Yes, I am. You should be happy, mother. I’m not running away with some woman like you always fear I will. They have never interested me, like I’ve always told you. You’re still the only woman in my life. Does that count for nothing? I love you, mom, but I love him, too, and I will not leave him for you.”

“But you will leave me for him?” 

She looked heartbroken. Scared. Even now, his first instinct was to run to her, comfort her, let her know that he would always be by her side, but she was making that impossible.

“Don’t you see what he’s doing to you?” she continued. “He’s making you turn against your own mother.”

“No, he’s not. You are. You’re forcing me away. Say that you accept us and I’ll stay. Otherwise…”

She shook her head slowly, obstinacy overriding her heartache.

“I will not.”

Oswald blinked rapidly, something catching in his throat.

“Well, then,” he said, picking up his suitcase with a numb hand. “Goodbye, mom. Call me if you change your mind.” 

When he was halfway to the door, the righteous indignation drained from his mom’s face and she beseeched him to stay, but her pleas were laced with the same insults, making him more determined to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

“Oswald, please. He’s bad for you. He’s only using you for his own gain. I feel it. Please. Don’t go. I know these things.”

Oswald shut the door behind him and rushed down the corridor, but not fast enough to miss his mom opening the door again and calling his name. He didn’t answer, ignoring the screaming pain in his right leg as he practically ran down the stairs. 

``````````````  
Jim’s phone buzzed from its prominent position right at the top of his desk. He had been waiting for a text from Oswald since they had spoken an hour ago. Immediately, he dropped his pen and picked up the phone to read the message.

 _I left_ , Oswald texted. _I’m at your place._

Of course his mom hadn’t backed down. Jim had hoped that perhaps the threat of Oswald moving out might convince her, but the disgust that she had shown him that morning wouldn’t be quelled so easily. 

_How are you?_ Jim texted. 

_I’ll be fine._

_Do you want me to call you during lunch?_

_If you want, but you don’t have to. I can wait for you to get home. That’s better, I think. I’ve got work. I can’t be in this headspace._

_Okay. I’ll see you tonight. Love you._

_I love you, too._

Jim put down the phone and sank back in his chair, scrubbing his hand over his face. When he looked up, Harvey was watching him from above his reading glasses. 

“That looked intense,” he said.

Jim dropped his head back. 

“Yeah.”

“Anything I should worry about?”

“No. It’s not mob business.”

Harvey returned to his paperwork. Jim picked up his pen and taped it against his thigh. After several seconds, he said,

“Oswald’s mom came by the station before you got here. She figured out that Oswald and I are together.”

Harvey frowned at him, taking off his glasses.

“What?”

“She came here to tell me to stay away from him. And she slapped me. That's what these scratches are."

"Shit. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. They're just scratches."

"Not because of that, doofus. I'm guessing that she threw some real, homophobic vitriol in your face. My cousin, she gets that shit all the time. It's tough."

Jim rubbed the pen between his fingers, the nasty words that Oswald’s mom had spat at him assaulting his memory.

"Yeah, there was plenty of that," he said. "It threw me, but I'll be okay. It's Oswald I'm worried about. If she said any of that to him... He moved out. I'm sure that they had a fight. He says he's okay, but I don't buy it."

"Hey, the little guy is tough. Just be there for him. He'll get through it. If that mom of his really loves him, she'll come around. She has to.”

"I'm not so sure."

"I've known moms like that. Their sons are their whole world. Without him, she's not going to know what to do with herself. She's going to be desperate for him to talk to her again. Eventually, she'll realize that the only way that's going to happen is by being civil to you. Mind you, she'll still hate you."

"I’m fine with that. I just don’t want her taking it out on Oswald.”

“I can’t help you there. It is what it is. You have to wait it out. There’s nothing more you can do.”

``````````````  
Oswald’s mom had been calling him all day. All. Day. After the third call, he set the phone to vibrate because he couldn’t stand the blaring of his ringtone anymore. He never answered, refusing to speak to her until she showed a sign that she would stop demonizing his relationship with Jim. She was free to leave voicemail messages, and, oh, did she leave them. Every ring was followed a couple of minutes later by a notification of a new message, but they were all repeats of her words earlier, all pleading for him to return, to see sense, to realize that Jim was bad for him, that only she loved him, and he stabbed the delete key before the messages rang their course, unable to bear the tightening in his throat every time that she demanded that he retreat to her fantasy land. 

The phone was ringing again. Oswald glanced at the caller ID, only to ensure that it wasn’t someone he’d rather talk to, and continued unpacking. When he arrived at Jim’s apartment this morning, he had set the suitcase on the bed, opened the fastenings, and popped it open, but hesitated at the thought of taking anything out. It felt too final. Now, he set his wrinkled shirts in a pile, frowning at the sorry state that he had stuffed his clothes in. He was never so careless with his garments, but he had had no patience to slow down when he packed. His leg was killing him, pain flaring down to his toes, but this needed to be done. It should not be so hard as this. Throughout the week, he had been sneaking garments out of his apartment and into Jim’s. He was merely adding to his side of the closet, along with placing a couple of new books on the shelf, but this wasn’t a one night sleepover, not that he had asked Jim if he could move in. He had only informed Jim that he would stay the night. Was it too early to move in together, impromptu as this was? He could look for other accommodations if Jim wasn’t comfortable with them sharing the space indefinitely. 

_Perhaps I could ask him now,_ he thought as he heard the front door open. 

“Oswald?” Jim called out.

“In the bedroom,” Oswald replied. 

Jim came in, looking like he had spent the entire day fretting. 

“Hey,” he said, kissing Oswald. “How are you doing?”

Oswald shrugged. 

“Mom won’t accept us. She keeps calling, begging me to come home, but it’s all the same bullshit.”

Jim pulled him into a hug and rubbed soothingly down his back. Oswald leaned gratefully into the touch, laying his cheek on Jim’s shoulder. 

“Give her time,” Jim said. “Maybe she’ll see sense.”

“My mother has not seen sense on this topic her entire life.”

“But you’re her only son. She loves you too much to let this go on forever. Once she realizes that the only way she can get you back is by accepting us, she will. Even if she’s only pretending to.”

His mom pretending not to hate this was the best that they could ever hope for.

“Your reassurances are sweet. I don’t believe them, but they are sweet.” 

“It will happen. You’ll see.”

“Not for a while, at least. I was thinking that I didn’t ask you this morning. In my haste, I just assumed. How long can I stay here?”

“As long as you need.”

“It will likely be a long time.”

“I’m not kicking you out. As long as you want to stay here, you’re staying.”

“Thank you.”

Unconsciously, he shifted in Jim’s arms and a shock of pain ran up his leg. He grimaced, gasping through his teeth.

“I need to sit down,” he said.

Jim let him go and Oswald took a step back to sit on the bed, grasping the edge of the mattress as he breathed slowly, waiting for this flare-up to subside.

“Do you want to stretch it out?” Jim asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll get this off the bed.”

Jim set the suitcase and shirts on a chair and placed the pillows against the headboard, creating a cushioned backrest. He had done this before a couple of times. Soon, it would be routine if Oswald continued to live here. After taking off his loafers, Oswald scooted back against them and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feel of the mattress dipping under Jim’s weight rather than the ache beating in his leg.

“It’s been hurting more than usual all day,” he said.

Oswald turned toward Jim, but what he had been about to say dried on his tongue when he saw two, short scratches on Jim’s left cheek. His mother wore thick rings. Jim said that she’d slapped him, but it hadn’t occurred to Oswald that she left physical damage. He touched Jim’s jaw, inspecting the cuts.

“I’m alright,” Jim said.

“She cut you.”

“It was just one slap. It hurt my pride more than anything.”

“That’s not the point. I should have known that she would do this. At least she didn’t poison your food or something more permanent.”

“Wait. Is that an actual possibility? Because you assured me that she wouldn’t actually hurt me. More than once.”

“I may have been hoping. She is very possessive of me.”

“I can tell.”

“It makes me crazy. She’s the one driving me away, not someone else. I’m so sorry that she hit you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll heal. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve never moved away from home, have you?”

“I’ve been away, but not moved out, no. I never had reason to. I love my mom. Why would I move away?”

Jim looked away for a second and Oswald rolled his eyes, dropping his head against the headboard. 

“God, not you, too.”

“What?”

“You think I’m a mama’s boy.”

“I didn’t say anything like that.”

“But you’re thinking it. People have been throwing that insult at me my whole life. I don’t care for it.”

“Oswald, I’ve never called you that and I never will. But I know how close you and your mom are.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Please don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I meant. I’m just worried about you because you’ve probably never fought this badly with her before. I’m sorry for my part in it. I want you to be okay.”

Oswald didn’t believe that Jim hadn’t been thinking that contemptible term at some point, but he let it go.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “Not immediately, but... I’ll get used to not seeing her. I just wish that she could actually grow to like you, but that’s certainly never going to happen.” 

“If it makes you feel better, my dad wouldn’t have liked you, either.”

Oswald snorted.

"The legendary DA? Now he would certainly be right in accusing me of corrupting his son."

"He'd probably get someone to arrest you and then prosecute you himself. Make sure we only saw each other in visitation rooms."

"What a terrifying father-in-law to have."

"Your mom isn't so bad in comparison. At least she can't incarcerate me."

Jim grabbed his hand, giving him an encouraging smile. Oswald forced one out to appease him, but he wasn’t really feeling it.

“I’ll cook you something to cheer you up,” Jim said, sliding off the bed.

“Jim, no. I hate to make you feel worse, but I’m only confirming what you told me. I’m sorry, but you really can’t cook.”

Jim smiled sheepishly, ducking his head.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Your breakfasts are fine, but not dinner.”

“I will order something to cheer you up, then.”

Oswald half-smiled.

“Better.”


End file.
